What Might Have Been
by TurtleLover4
Summary: My first real attempt at a short story. One of the turtles thinks about what the world would have been like had he never been mutated, and discovers an important life lesson in the process.


"What Might Have Been" by Dawnatello

**What Might Have Been**

_by Dawnatello_

  


  


_What if I were you and you were me  
Still can't see the forest fire beyond the trees  
Now I'm standing in a field of green the colors burning far as I can see  
What do you see  
On my tongue the galaxies so small  
Here I'll drink it down and watch the world dissolve  
Now I'm pouring through the universe and slipping through the endless  
Stream of time  
What would you find _

And I'm flying floating on the wind again  
Hoping it will drag me in  
Can't you see I'm laughing...laughing at the consequence  
Laughing at this circumstance  
Don't you know by now 

Stare at all the faces...they go by  
Faster than we live the more we die  
Now I'm crashing through the open door and smiling  
In a most peculiar way  
What would you say 

And I'm falling faster than a waterfall  
Opened up and after all  
Can't you see I'm drowning right here in the open air  
Wishing I could still go clear  
Don't you know by now  
This is what we are 

And I'm flying floating on the wind again  
Hoping it will drag me in  
Can't you see I'm hoping wishing I could see myself  
Wishing I was someone else  
But don't you know by now  
Don't you know by now  
This is what we are 

- "Forestfire" by David Usher 

  


  
Darkness surrounded him. He glanced skyward, searching the stars. They shined clearly against the blanket of black, defying the contrast of the lights from the city streets far below. There was no moon tonight, nothing to take away from their brilliance, yet he found no comfort in them. His ears rang suddenly with Donatello's words-- _stars are made up of burning gas...like the sun..._ And that's what he felt like--a flaming hunk of nondescript rock, forever burning, always searching, trying to _become_ something, but going relatively ignored in this vast universe. He was insignificant, no more important than a grain of sand or a flashing dot in the sky millions of miles away. 

His entire life was one big joke. How he wished he could take it all back. It was all so meaningless, so insignificant. 

_Maybe the world would be better off without me..._

And that's when he decided it was true. He should have never fallen into that mutagen...he should have never even been _born_. Life was pain. It was trying to be something better than you knew deep down you would ever have the power to become. It was disappointment. Terror. Blood... 

He glanced down at the weapon in his belt, then back up at the stars. He didn't belong here under this canopy of space. None of them did. They were nothing but an accident of nature--_freaks_. And it's all they would _ever_ be. Splinter had once told them that every soul has something significant to contribute to the world. But the truth was, the world was no greater place because he was in it. In fact, he was beginning to think the opposite. He was convinced that he wouldn't be missed in the slightest. Even his brothers and Splinter probably wouldn't care at this point. 

He'd messed up tonight. Big time. He'd put his family in jeopardy, and it had almost cost him his own life. Worst of all, he'd killed an innocent. She had been young--only about thirty years old. He could still hear her wailing screams pounding through his head. But he'd _had_ to. He had no other choice... 

He should have never gotten involved with that "reformed" Foot member. He should have never let his guard down. He'd never been one to easily place his trust in another, so why this time? _Why_? The guy stabbed him in the back. He betrayed his trust and friendship. That's probably what hurt most of all. Just when he thought he'd been accepted for who and what he was, that loyalty turned on him. He was ambushed suddenly, Foot closing in on all sides. He had to do something. He had to get away. 

The battle had been intense. His left arm had been cut up pretty badly. Finally, he managed to defeat enough of them to break away. He _hated_ running, but this time it was all he could do. If he remained fighting much longer, he'd probably bleed to death. That is, if one of the Foot didn't kill him first in this weakened state. He ran through Central Park, out toward the night street, searching for that familiar shadow of a manhole cover that would lead him to safety. But in his haste, he'd forgotten about the coverings he'd shed at the beginning of his fight with the Foot. Now he was left exposed and vulnerable. 

As he neared the alley that would lead him to home, he found his path blocked suddenly by a woman. He tried to duck into the shadows, but it was too late. She'd seen him. And her piercing shriek of terror echoed through the night. He glanced up quickly at the surrounding buildings, and his heart skipped a beat. He was right outside of a research facility. If they heard her cries and came outside, he was convinced he would soon find himself their next test subject. Worse yet, she was informing his enemies of his location. 

He'd tried to plead with her. "Look, lady, it's alright, I'm not gonna hurt you. Please stop screaming..." 

But she wouldn't listen. Her terror consumed her entirely. Footsteps were nearing. He had no time. He had to act _now_. 

"Come on...you're not helping me here..." He cursed under his breath while she continued to wail in fear. 

_I have to shut her up or she's gonna lead them right to me..._

He trusted his instincts and did the first thing that came naturally. He punched her. It wasn't even a particularly hard hit where he was concerned, but it had been enough to knock her to the ground. She grew silent instantly. He ducked into the shadows and gazed around. A group of Foot was approaching. They stopped several feet away, whispering anxiously amongst themselves. He held his breath, listening, watching. His sight narrowed in on them, taking note of every action, every glance. Did they see him? 

He stood there for what seemed an eternity. His breathing came in ragged breaths as he tried to push away the pain that was gnawing at his arm. Was that fear he was feeling? He didn't like the sensation. That, too, he denied himself, burying it deep within his subconscious. He would _not_ allow them to gain the upper hand. He could do this. He could beat them. Luckily, he didn't have to. 

After several intense moments, he watched in silence as they hurried away. He let out a sigh of relief, realizing he was alone. 

That's when he remembered the woman near his feet. He risked the brief exposure to leave the concealment of the shadows to check on her. 

"I'm sorry, lady", he whispered. "But you were gonna get me killed." 

His arm stung something fierce, and when he leaned down next to her, some of the blood dripped down onto her shirt, a striking contrast of red against white. 

"You'll probably have a nice headache when you wake up, but hopefully you'll think this was all just a scary dream." 

He moved to scoop her up into his weakening arms and carry her someplace safer when something stopped him. There was blood, and it wasn't from his arm. He stared at her intently for a moment. She didn't appear to be breathing. Carefully, he moved closer to her, staring at the thick pool of fluid that surrounded her head. It appeared as black as tar in the darkness. She must have hit her head when she fell! He let out a gasp and lowered to his knees next to her. He laid a hand on her neck, searching for a pulse, but he couldn't find one. He rolled her onto her back and pressed the side of his head to her chest. There was no heartbeat. His eyes widened in shock. 

"No...this can't be...I didn't hit her _that_ hard..." 

But try as he might to convince himself otherwise, she was dead. And it was _his_ fault. 

He wanted to run, he wanted to escape this all, to find a place that could shield him from the pain and guilt that had ravaged him so suddenly. Common sense and exhaustion finally won over, however, and he carefully lifted the manhole lid and hurried toward his underground home. He went as fast as he could. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and that corpse as possible. And he knew that if he didn't get his own wound bandaged up soon, he would more than likely share the same fate as that woman had. 

His worst fears were realized when he arrived home and was forced to explain what had happened to his arm. When the others had gotten word of his actions that night, they were immediately appalled. Splinter scolded him about self-control. He'd always taught them to _protect_ the innocent. Raphael was painfully aware that he'd done just the opposite. He regretted it with every breath of his being. Leonardo was worried that he had been tracked and their enemies would now be able to find the lair. He'd accused him of putting all of their lives at great risk, of not ever caring about anybody but himself. Mike and Don still couldn't understand why he would befriend a former Foot member in the first place. They were blood enemies, and so it would always remain. 

He'd made mistakes in the past, and he'd always repented for them. He expressed his sincere apology to Splinter, but it hadn't seemed good enough this time. His master--his _father's_ words still burned into him. 

_"A team is only as strong as its weakest link, Raphael."_

Is that what they really thought of him? Weak? Well, he would show _them_ who was weak. 

With determined deliberateness, he laid a hand on his belt, his index finger catching the first sting of cold from the metal beneath it. He grabbed the hilt and slowly slid the sai from its resting-place. He held it up, trying to catch some glint of the orange streetlight on the fine steel. A feral grin reached his lips, and then his face dropped. He rose his head once more to stare into the darkened New York sky. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care about _anything_. He closed his eyes, and with a shaky hand, rose the sai high into the air. He sucked in a ragged breath, and without allowing himself anymore thought about the situation, stuck the long metal prong in the soft area between the chestplates of his plastron and cried out a roar of deepest pain as he forced it into his chest. 

  


It was excruciating. His entire plastron felt as though it were on fire. The world was spinning around him, pulling him into the abyss. His vision faded, his body became numb until he couldn't feel anything anymore. Blackness overcame him and he knew no more. 

  


******

  


Leonardo paced the dojo floor, for once, unable to concentrate. Splinter eyed him warily. Don and Mike stood off in the corner whispering to one another in hushed tones. 

"Leonardo...?" 

"Master Splinter...I'm sorry, I can't concentrate. I...I said some things to Raph that I shouldn't have. I'm worried about him, master. Something tells me that I need to find him. 

  


  


He blinked his eyes, surprised at his own consciousness. He was aware...but something was different. This wasn't the world he was used to. He felt weightless, drifting in empty space as warm, foggy tendrils of air swirled around his legs. He was neither hot nor cold, felt neither pleasure nor pain. In fact, he really had no physical sensation at all, save for a nagging pull in the back of his mind. 

He closed his eyes, allowing that force to take him where it would. He was surprised when he opened them again to find his brother Leonardo before him. Why would it lead him there, to the one who'd always caused him so much grief? 

_Leo doesn't care about me...he'll probably be glad when he finds out I'm gone._

He was shocked when he heard otherwise, saw the sincere regret in his brother's eyes. For a moment, he felt compassion toward Leonardo, but as he stared into those light eyes, a waft of anger overcame him suddenly. 

_Leo...you think you're so perfect. You always have to prove yourself--one up me all the time, especially in front of Splinter. You were always better than me, weren't you? Well...not always._

He found himself floating, his body growing heavier, as if gravity had reclaimed it for its own. He felt a tug. His entire soul was being forced downward. Suddenly, he was whole again. His feet were back on sturdy ground. Dizzy, he peered around at the brick and cement that surrounded him. He was seeing through his own eyes, yet not entirely. He felt trapped, constricted, as if his body was too small or feeble to hold him. Yet, he felt energized and alive. He hadn't felt so carefree since... 

He was a kid again. 

_He was young--only about five. He'd been playing a game of hide and seek with his brothers. All had seemed perfectly normal. He crawled into a narrow tunnel, one he __knew_ Mike was too short to hoist himself into, and waited with bated breath. Minutes passed, but seemed like hours. He was growing impatient. But then suddenly, a cry of terror split the silence. Raphael pushed himself away from the wall and darted toward the sound. What he found was rather unsettling. 

"Leo...you..." 

"I--he _followed_ me..." 

"But..._how_?" 

"I..." Leo's head dropped. He was clearly shamed. "I tried to hide outside." 

There was an audible gasp as his three brothers stared at him slack-jawed. 

"But master told us never to go above." Mike's eyes were as wide as saucers. 

"I know...but I just thought..." Tears were starting to stream down Leonardo's face. "I just thought that I could hide up there...just for a _minute_. It's dark out. I thought no one would see." 

They all looked down at the dead man near their feet. Leonardo's sword was still sticking up out of his chest. 

"Why, Leo...?" Don whispered. 

"He...he tried to grab me. He said he was going to kill me. He had a knife. I was scared. I didn't mean to...I just--I..." The turtle burst into tears. 

"It'll be all right, Leo." Mike comforted. "We'll just explain to Master Splinter what happened and--" 

"No!" Leo looked horrified. "No...we _can't_! Splinter wouldn't understand. He'd be really mad...he'd make me leave..." 

"Master would never make you leave our home." Don tried to reassure him. "Besides...it was an accident." 

Leonardo shook his head, wordlessly, his cheeks streaked with tears. 

Raphael cocked his head to the side, thinking. "Don't worry," he said at last. "I'll take care of it." 

And he _had_ taken care of it. In fact, he'd done way more than Leonardo could have ever asked. Figuring he could handle the punishment better than his brother could, Raphael had taken the blame. The scolding was severe. He was shamed, practically put on display as a lesson for his brothers. Leonardo did nothing to contradict Raph's admission. Raphael found himself growing angry and resentful of his brother. 

At the same time, Leo was going through his own form of torture. He was mentally berating himself for his actions. And even worse was the idea that he'd let his brother take the blame for something as drastic and serious as he had done. He'd been a coward. From that moment on, Leonardo made a conscious decision--he would be perfect in everything he did. He would strive to do all he could to make his master proud. And, having born the grief of bringing harm near his family and the shame of killing a living being, he vowed to himself that he wouldn't allow any harm to come to them. He would watch over them, keep them safe. He didn't want anything like that to happen to any of them--not ever. 

Leo's new devotion to perfection made his conflict with Raphael all the more intense, however, because Leo seemed to receive nothing but praise while Raphael continued to be bathed in condemnation. 

This pushed Raphael all the more. It made him _want_ to do bad...to go his own way, so at least they'd have an _excuse_ to scold him. He decided he'd be the master of his own life. He'd take risks when necessary and do what he felt like. He soon realized that Splinter had only punished him out of love and worry, but it made no difference. Raphael vowed that he would never again take the rap for something Leo had done. Of course, he'd never _had_ to... 

  


  


The vision of Leonardo faded, and he found himself once again in the weightless void of nothingness. He was alone and directionless. A piercing cold had begun to creep up on him, seeming to tug at him from all directions at once. His head began to pound. He shut his eyes, willing the pain away. 

  


******

  
"I _told_ you we should've put some sort of tracking devise on him a long time ago..." There was concern in Donatello's face, yet he was trying to cover it with sarcasm. 

"Don, this is serious. I think Raph's really upset this time." 

"I know, Leo, I know." He sat down in a chair, propping his chin in his hands to think. "He seemed genuinely tormented about that woman. You don't...you don't think he did something stupid, do you...?" 

  


  


Donatello had always been good at figuring things out, but now, as he watched him, all he could see was confusion and apprehension. It was clear his brother was preoccupied. He hurried through his room, grabbing up his weapon and pads, and knocking several things over in the process. As he picked up his bo, Raphael noticed how badly his hands were shaking. 

Again the force in his mind beckoned, and he allowed it to pull him where it would. He felt gravity take over once more, and a nauseating vertigo filled his head. He shook himself and rose to his feet, feeling awkward and misproportioned. Perhaps it was the effects of this mind-travel, but he soon learned otherwise. 

He was in a huge room with a lot of floor mats and sparring gear. In fact, it looked just like the dojo...but he didn't remember it ever being so large. His brothers were near. He could sense them. When he turned clumsily to gaze into their faces, he realized why he felt so strange. They were young--so much more than he'd been only moments ago. These were the first few months of their mutated lives, back when they were just learning to form speech patterns and take their first steps. It was an exciting time for them all, especially Splinter. They were learning to break boundaries that were not naturally possible. And the fact that they realized this, even at an unconscious level, was even more amazing. 

Splinter told them often how they were making outstanding progress. The rat who had so readily taken them in as his own children was not only in total disbelief of them, but of himself as well. He'd always been a peculiar rat, but his mental and physical abilities had now spanned way beyond anything he could have ever imagined. 

Raphael had taken the first step, Leonardo and Michaelangelo not far behind. Standing upright was something foreign to them, and it took several weeks of balance exercises before they were able to travel more than a couple of feet without falling. But they'd overcome that obstacle, and as their bodies grew to become more and more human like, they also became stronger. Soon, they were all walking and talking as well as any two-year-old human child. All of them that is, except for one. 

Donatello hadn't honed his humanistic qualities as quickly. While his limbs and muscles had developed at the same rate as that of his brothers, it appeared that his mental capacity had suffered. He was quiet. In fact, it had been three months since the other turtles had started talking, and still not a word from Donatello. Splinter had begun to fear that this one had suffered brain damage, or perhaps had a negative effect to the mutagen. But all of his worries changed into wonderment a couple of weeks later. 

_ Splinter ravaged through the tattered bag, pulling out something red and round. His wards stared at it in curiosity, eyeing it hungrily. _

"What?" The one he called Michaelangelo pointed at it questioningly. 

"It is called an aaa-pulll." Splinter said carefully. He was still trying to master the art of the English language himself. 

"Aaa-pull?" Leonardo gazed longingly from him to the food in his hand. 

Splinter knew how hungry they all were. Every night was a burden for him. He'd go out late, scavenging hotel and restaurant trashcans, trying to find something salvageable to bring back to his new family. It was a rare treat to find a piece of food so intact. 

"We eat now." Raphael had a smile that was infectious. 

"Splinnn-ter? What aaa-pulll?" Mike continued to look it over in wonder. 

"An aaa-pull is--" 

"Apple--the fleshy, usually rounded red or yellow edible pome fruit of a tree (genus Malus) of the rose family." 

All eyes turned to the usually silent turtle in shock and amazement. 

"Donatello..." Splinter laid a hand on his tiny shoulder. He couldn't believe he had just spoken! And so clearly and concisely too! He was overjoyed that he'd been mistaken in his previous assessment of this one. "Where did you learn that?" 

Donatello beamed at him. "Webster's Dictionary." 

Talking never _had_ been Donatello's weakness. He could talk a mile a minute when he got going. He always had a way of explaining things that left him and his brothers totally clueless. Raphael was sure he delighted in that fact. And he wasn't stupid either. In fact, Raphael figured that he was the smartest guy he knew. It really irritated him sometimes how Donatello would show off his brilliance. Still, deep down, he sort of admired the guy. 

Donatello had always been something of an introvert. He kept to himself a lot. He hardly said anything that wasn't worth saying. In those early years, it wasn't slowness or lack of brainpower that kept him silent. It was constant contemplation, wonder at the world around him. 

He longed for knowledge. He wanted to understand the reasoning behind why he'd become what he'd become. He liked to know why things worked, how the world was designed. He was always building, always creating. And he was always full of surprises. 

  


  


Again, the vision faded, and he was weightless once more. As he gazed at his surroundings, trying to make some sense of it all, he could feel the veil of darkness begin to lift a little. Squinting, he spotted a tiny beam of light interrupting the endless blanket of black. As he stared at that ray of brightness, realization struck him suddenly. He knew where he was. 

This wasn't a dream after all. He was dying. What he was experiencing weren't mere visions, but memories, actual events from the past, things that had shaped his life and those of his brothers. And he could see what each of them were going through right now, as if he'd stepped outside of himself and was standing among them. How he could sense their current worry and pain he wasn't sure, but he knew for certain that it was real. 

_Serves them right_, he thought bitterly. _They didn't want me around anyway._

But when he looked into the eyes of his last brother, that anger began to fade. 

  


******

  
The cold, fresh air felt good on his face, yet he found none of the usual joy it brought. His heart was pounding in his chest and an aching sense of desperation gnawed at him. 

"Do you think he's going to be all right?" 

"I don't know, Michaelangelo. I hope so...but it feels--" 

"It feels like something's wrong. Like he's hurt himself." The words stung, and before he could stop them, Mike felt the warmth of tears begin to slide down his cheeks. 

  


  


Michaelangelo had always been the intuitive one. He was the one who was most in touch with feelings--both his own and his brothers'. He could feel things. He knew when his family was in pain. And, being his best buddy, he was connected to Raphael most of all. He hated to see his brothers suffer. And even though Michaelangelo was good at hiding his own feelings to protect those of the others, Raphael could always see through it. 

This time, the pull was stronger. Before he even had time to realize he was being led once more, he was in his body again. Instead of feeling constricted or awkward as he had previously, he felt almost comfortable. He took in a breath, filling his chest to capacity with air before exhaling slowly. His lungs felt so healthy and strong. 

His brothers were with him again, and this time, they were kneeling in a semi-circle in a small, dimly lit room. Raphael recognized it at once as his Master's bedroom. They hardly ever went into his room, unless there was an urgent need. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how urgent _this_ one had seemed at the time. 

_It was six days after the day they celebrated as their eleventh birthday. The turtles were almost full grown by this time, though their bodies hadn't quite developed to their completed state just yet. Splinter had taken them above briefly, and it was the first time they'd ever seen the world of humans. It was exhilarating and a little bit scary. _

He'd shown them the park, they'd stood in awe of the trees. Michaelangelo had attempted to climb one, but he wasn't quite tall enough yet to hoist himself up the branches. They stared at the pond, admired how brilliantly the moon reflected in its surface. They gazed up at the stars. How magnificent they were. They suddenly found themselves wishing more than anything that they could be a part of this world. Several hours later as they knelt in worry over their master, that wish intensified. 

"Please..." Leo begged. "Tell us what's wrong, Master." 

"I will be alright, Leonardo. I am just feeling a little dizzy." 

"The vertigo caused him to fall," Don explained. 

"But why are you dizzy, Master?" Michaelangelo's face was full of concern. 

"I believe I might have contracted a touch of the flu." 

"Damn humans and their damn germs..." Raphael muttered. 

Splinter opened his mouth to correct Raphael, but Leonardo did it for him. 

"Don't talk like that. Master doesn't like it." 

Raphael glared at him but said nothing. He could argue with his brother later. They had bigger concerns to worry about right now. 

How Michaelangelo wished he was human then. If he looked like everyone else, he would be able to go out and get some medicine for Splinter, or even take him to the doctor. But instead, they were alone and helpless, left to their own devices. 

"Are you sure you're going to be all right, Master?" The worry was etched deeply into his features. 

Raphael shared Michaelangelo's panic, but he pushed it aside, attempting to save face in front of his brothers. "He'll be fine." He balled his hand into a fist and gave Mike a noogie on top of his head. "Humans heal from the flu in less than a week, usually...right Don?" But Splinter wasn't human. How would a human disease effect a rat? 

Despite his best efforts, Michaelangelo could sense his apprehension and fear. Mike felt like crying, like cursing the world for it's cruelty, but instead, he swallowed his emotions, kept them hidden right beneath the shield of relief he quickly erected. 

"Yeah, you're right..." He glanced from long face to long face. "Come on, guys. Everything will be okay. Master Splinter said so. It's just the flu." He forced a smile, which must have appeared genuine enough, because he saw the others relax a bit. The truth of it was though, he was terrified. What if they lost Splinter? What if he died? They'd be left alone. The thought scared him more than anything else. 

This is how it always was. Everyone knew Michaelangelo was the most emotional of them all, but he'd always put their needs above his own. Realizing they were all he had in the world, he'd decided from the time he could first comprehend, that his family was the most important thing to him. He loathed the idea that anything could ever tear them apart or bring them harm, so in dire situations, he did his best to hide his own torment and hold them together. He was forever the optimist, trying to convince his brothers and _himself_ that everything would work out, even if he knew deep down that there was no way he could possibly know that. 

He admired Michaelangelo, more so than he would ever let on. He was much stronger than they usually gave him credit for. Mike possessed that ability to see the best in everything and every_one_. He wished he could be like that--carefree and trusting. Mike balanced him out. He helped to bring out that gentle side of him that yearned to be set free. Still, those shields he'd built up long ago wouldn't allow the others to get much of a glimpse of the affection and concern he had for them deep within. Showing such emotions left him feeling weak and vulnerable. 

He knew Mike had a good idea about what he'd done tonight. He always knew, even if only on an unconscious level, what he was going through. And he understood. They were so connected, so intuned to one another. What would Michaelangelo do without him? 

Raphael knew that Mike wouldn't be able to handle losing one of his family, especially one he was so bonded with. When he found the body, his heart would break. He could already envision their team going asunder, the world crashing down around them. It was almost too much for Raphael to bear. 

  


******

  
The light was growing closer. He could feel himself being pulled lazily yet steadily forward, it's brilliance beckoning him. He became lost in the idea of letting go for a moment, but then an idea struck him. He pictured them all again in his mind, remembered them as children, saw their distraught faces as they searched desperately for him beneath the night sky. And suddenly, something within him ignited. 

He understood now--their motives, their ambitions, who they were...their devotion and love toward him. Each one of them was unique and special. Each of them had so much to offer. There were so many talents they could give to the world. Don had his intelligence and his knack for science and electronics. Mike had his listening skills, his compassion, his meaningful writing. Even Leo's talents he couldn't deny. He had leadership abilities, patience, and concentration. He was disciplined and brave. He admired them all. He always had. 

  


  


In an instant, he was standing on the street in the cold dark of night. He glanced at his surroundings, taking note of how empty everything seemed. He looked down at himself. He was in his own body--his _adult_ body...and he had no clothes on. There was nothing at all to conceal his appearance. For a moment, he felt panic grip him, but then he realized this was just a vision. He wasn't really standing here. Not that it would have mattered anyway. The streets were unusually quiet and abandoned for a New York night. There was hardly a car in sight, and those that dotted the street here and there appeared to be abandoned, their windshields smashed in and tires slashed. 

He silently wondered where he was. He couldn't remember a scene like this from his past, and only minutes ago, he'd been looking down on the city and it's bustling traffic. This couldn't be the present. Still, something seemed oddly familiar about this place. 

He walked on for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. He passed shop after shop, their windows broken like the cars he'd seen, and most of their merchandise looted. There was mass destruction everywhere he looked. He simply couldn't understand why people would want to ruin their city in such a manner. 

He came to the end of the block and glanced around. The shops and restaurants and even apartment buildings had been broken and vandalized as far as the eye could see. The pet store had been broken into and all of the animals set free. The only thing remaining was a couple of boxes of birdseed on a broken-down shelf. The Italian restaurant, Romano's had been burned and spraypainted with vulgar graffiti. A large 'Out of Business' sign hung outside the door. There was the bakery, the bank, the deli--every business shared the same fate. He glanced across the street and froze suddenly, a chilling sense of disbelief shuddering through him. 

He stared, wide-eyed in awe of the building before him. It couldn't be...it had burned down so long ago. He couldn't believe it was still standing. Slowly, he walked toward it, his eyes scanning the letters on the sign. 

_Second Time Around--Antiques and More_

He swallowed as he approached, taking note of the broken glass and the words 'Shredder Rulez' painted onto the bricks. His eyes widened as he said the name aloud. 

"Shredder..." it was a name he hadn't spoken in years. 

A deep-rooted well of anger sprung up inside of him as he examined her things. Most of them were ruined and smashed. It reminded him of the time Shredder and the Foot had attacked them in her home. They'd ruined everything--her apartment, her junk shop...her _life_. 

_It was all because of us...she'd have been better off never knowing us..._

He searched around, gathering up broken knickknacks, being careful not to step on any glass or broken porcelain. He turned on the old television, surprised that it was actually still in working condition. 

He nearly choked as a news report played on the dusty screen. 

_"Earlier this evening, famed scientist Baxter Stockman was confronted by police in his Manhattan home where he was taken into custody under the accusation of kidnapping, two counts of grand theft, attempted murder and manslaughter. _

"Stockman, who is widely known for his studies in robotics and mechanical sciences recently introduced his small army of electronic devises he referred to as 'mousers' to the world. Designed to help combat the city's rat problem, these mechanical contraptions featured two stable fiberglass feet and a very sharp, beak-like mouth, with which to capture the intruding rodents. 

"However, the police received an anonymous tip, rumoring that he actually planned to use these devices in a mad plan for world domination. Upon investigation tonight, police found the body of Stockman's assistant, April O'Neil, tied up at the wrists and covered in lacerations. Apparently, she had been left to bleed to death after a brutal attack from several of Stockman's creations. 

"When questioned, friends told authorities that O'Neil had been complaining about Stockman's procedures and motives, and made it clear that she didn't agree with his plans. It is now believed that Stockman held O'Neil hostage and ordered the mousers to kill her in order to carry out his scheme without interference. 

"Upon further investigation, police found several high-tech weapons and instruments hidden away inside the lab, assumedly a part of his domination tactics. Stockman is set for trial later this month, and is facing lifetime imprisonment. More as it develops." 

Raphael swallowed against the large knot that had formed in his throat at the sound of April's name. He closed his eyes, tears of pain and grief forcing their way out and over his cheeks. He couldn't believe it...April was dead...but it _couldn't_ be. They'd rescued her from Baxter's laboratory. They'd saved her life! 

_"In further news, the attack on New York City continues. Stores, businesses and homes continue to be vandalized by an unseen group of terrorists. Some residents believe this to be the work of a cult, but police investigation has led to evidence indicating that these random acts of violence and destruction are tied in with the recent swell of muggings and killings that has escalated over the past couple of weeks. It is rumored that this is the work of a clan of martial arts experts, perhaps directly from Japan. It is advised that everyone stay in their homes as much as possible--"_

He switched off the television. He'd heard enough. 

Intense anger boiled through him at the thought of all of the destruction. He still couldn't believe that April was really dead. His heart ached over the loss. And to think that the Foot actually dared to terrorize New York after all of this time. They just couldn't learn their lesson. It sickened him. 

He lowered to the dusty, debris filled floor of April's old shop. He rested his forehead against his knees and began to cry. April had meant so much to him. She was one of the very few humans who'd accepted him for what he was. There were no strings attached with their friendship. Their bond had been genuine. Already, he could feel the loss and his heart began to break. 

  


******

  
Before he knew it, he had been sucked back into the void again. He took in a breath, and as he exhaled, the pain began to dissolve. It was then that he realized that the scene he'd just witnessed hadn't really taken place. Baxter had been gone for a long time. The city was still relatively safe. What he'd seen was merely a possibility--what might have been had he and his brothers never been mutated. Oroku Saki would have come to America in search of Splinter's master, Hamato Yoshi, and after his brother's life was avenged, his lust for power would have grown. Without the turtles' interference, Saki most likely would have used force to get the people of the city to bend to his will. If he and his brothers had never been exposed to the mutagenic substance that changed them into conscious, thinking beings, they would have never been able to stop Baxter and April probably would have lost her life as a result of her refusal to help him. 

He closed his eyes and saw her face. He remembered the way she laughed at Michaelangelo's jokes, the way she'd taken care of them when they were injured. She was the closest thing to a mom or a sister they'd ever had. Then he saw Casey, his best friend. He saw that cocky grin, he remembered the camaraderie, the way he and Casey related to one another so well. It didn't matter that he was human. They were two of a kind. He would have missed out on meeting them had he never been mutated. He would have missed out on a lot of things. 

One by one, visions of his nighttime romps with Casey and his brothers flashed through his mind--purse muggings, beatings, knife fights, kidnappings, murders--so many crimes had been thwarted by his hands. He'd saved so many lives. Only a few had gotten a glimpse of him. Only a handful knew of the frightening monster that had for some reason protected them. But whether they knew of him or not, he had been their savior, and that's what mattered. 

He thought of something then. Maybe it wasn't the bigger picture that mattered most. Maybe it wasn't important whether the world accepted them, if he was shunned or outcast because of the way he looked. Maybe it was enough just to be able to touch one person's life, and in turn, to be touched back, if even only for a moment. The important thing was that he'd made a difference, no matter how small. 

One by one, the faces of his family and friends materialized in his mind. He saw their joy, their sadness, their anger, and their love. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to leave them all behind. The world was a great place. There was still so much to discover and explore. 

With determination, he opened his eyes and pushed against the force that was continuing to draw him in. He denied the light. He cast it aside with every ounce of strength left in him. He wanted to live. He wanted to see his master's face again, to fight with Leonardo, to joke with Michaelangelo, to listen to one of Donatello's boring explanations. He didn't want to leave. He wasn't finished living yet. 

  


******

  
They rushed over stucco and brick, their bare feet barely audible as they jumped from rooftop to rooftop. Michaelangelo was in the lead tonight. Leonardo decided he would be the one out of all of them who would be able to find Raphael the easiest. 

Running on adrenaline and instinct, Mike led them further and further from the lair, pausing only seconds to catch his breath and gaze out over the busy streets below. 

"You don't think he...jumped?" Don's eyes widened as he allowed them to fall on the traffic. 

Michaelangelo shook his head. "He's somewhere close though. I can sense him." 

Leonardo nodded and they took off again, running and jumping, their breath creating little clouds of mist on the wind. They had been running for what seemed hours when Michaelangelo suddenly stopped. 

Donatello watched Mike nervously. He was frozen in place, his eyes glazed over and staring straight ahead, his face a mixture of sorrow and terror. "What?" He whispered. "What is it?" 

Michaelangelo pointed. "Up there." 

"Oh my god..." Leo went numb. For a moment he couldn't even breathe, let alone move. 

"Come on. We have to get to him..." Don nudged Michaelangelo, snapping him out of his trance. The three of them hurried forward, not breaking their stride until they were only feet from him. 

That's when they discovered how serious it really was. 

"God..." Michaelangelo turned away, burrying his face in Leonardo's shoulder. Leo made a move to comfort him, but found himself frozen again, unable to believe what he was seeing. 

Donatello closed his eyes, tears already escaping. "Raph..." 

He was lying in a pool of his own blood, limbs spread at awkward angles. His right hand still firmly clutched the sai that was buried halfway into his chest. 

"God, Leo...god..." Michaelangelo thought he was going to vomit. His knees almost gave way as Leo lowered him carefully to the ground. 

"Wait here..." 

He hurried to Raphael's side and knelt down next to him. Trying to ignore the blood and the harsh scene of what Raphael had willingly done to himself, he took his brother's hand from the sai, searching the wrist for a pulse. He could feel nothing. He hitched his breath as the pain of loss already began to wash over him. He laid Raphael's hand next to his side and pressed his head to his plastron right next to the wound. 

For a moment, the world stood still. 

Mike and Don stared on in terror as tears began to stream down Leonardo's cheeks. "He's alive...but his heartbeat is so faint..." 

Michaelangelo rushed over to kneel down on Raphael's other side. Instantly, he forgot his nerves and began to do what he could to help his brother. He moved toward his feet, propping them up in his lap. Donatello sat near Raphael's head, checking his neck every few seconds for a pulse. 

Leonardo stared at the chest wound through blurred vision. He hated that sai. He loathed it with a passion. Why couldn't Raphael have chosen a weapon that wasn't so sharp? Unthinking, he reached over, grabbing it firmly by the hilt. 

"NO!" Michaelangelo took hold of his arm before he could pull the sai out. "Don't remove it. Raphael could bleed to death." 

"Look at him, Mike," Donatello's voice was barely audible. "He's dead already." 

"No....no, god, please no..." The verbal confirmation of his own thoughts was too much for Leo to bear. He wrapped an arm around him, burying his face in his plastron. "God, this is my fault. Please, Raph...please don't die. Don't you _dare_ leave me!" 

  


******

  
Pain such as he'd never known met him when he awoke. He opened his eyes slowly, painfully aware of the previous night's events. There were so many things he wished he'd done differently, and there were many things he wished he could have said. But all of that was over now. 

Carefully, he took in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut as waves of agony rolled through his chest. He tried to cough, but that only made the muscles tense up more, making breathing impossible. He gasped in the air, thinking that if this was death, he definitely wanted no part of it. 

There were voices around him, quiet, concerned. 

"Shhh...he's waking up." 

"Raph...Raphael...listen to me--breath. In through your beak, out through your mouth." 

He listened to the voices. They sounded kind enough. He sucked in a breath as deeply as he could, squinting his eyes against the pain, then let it out slowly, trying to ease some of the tension in his chest. 

"Raphael..." A new voice had emerged. This one was even gentler, throatier. "Open your eyes." 

Slowly, he did as requested. The air that surrounded him was dark as it had been before, but this time was tinged with an orangey light. It reminded him of fire...burning...the _Second Time Around_ shop, April. He had to get to her. She was in danger! 

He tried to sit up, but the pain was excruciating. He felt someone grab his wrists and push him gently but firmly back down onto the bed. He lay there panting for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. Blinking rapidly, they began to fade into view--green faces standing around him on all sides, expressions of worry, concern and relief. 

"April--" He gasped. 

"April's fine, Raph," Leonardo soothed. "Just be still." 

"I'm right here." He smiled faintly as she came into view and laid a hand on his forehead. 

"Had me...scared there...for a minute." He managed. 

"Me!? You had _us_ terrified!" 

He could see now where the tears had stained her face. 

Splinter came forward and latched onto his arm, sorrow flooding his brown eyes. "My son..." 

Raphael stared into his face, and he could almost feel the love emanating from the old rat. He realized then that this wasn't another vision or dream, but the real thing. He was alive. 

"Father..." He forced a smile, his face heating up with fresh tears. 

"Raph...I'm so glad you're alive..." Michaelangelo reached around carefully and gave him an enormous hug. He didn't bother concealing his emotions this time. He let them run freely, leaving a nice puddle of tears on Raphael's plastron. 

"Raphael, I--" Leonardo took his hand, biting his lip as if he wasn't quite sure what to say. "I said some things I didn't mean earlier, and..." 

"Yeah...I'm sorry too, Leo." 

"You really had us scared there." Donatello forced a smile and gripped his shoulder with a shaky hand. "I thought we were going to lose you. I didn't know what I would do--" he couldn't bear to finish the thought. "Well...you were really lucky. The plastron was cracked down the middle, but Mike and Splinter managed to patch that up. Luckily for you, you _have_ a shell. It absorbed some of the impact. A little further, and you would have hit major organs..." 

He swallowed, knowing full well how close he'd come to death, and wondering why he'd been given this second chance. Maybe this was some sort of life lesson, but for him, it was to be learned the hard way. 

"Raphael...you are a very important member of this team." Splinter's eyes were red. Raphael doubted very much that he'd gotten any sleep. He wasn't even sure how much time had passed, but from all of their worn out expressions, he must have been out for a while. "Do not think that any one of you are more significant than the other. I may have failed you as a father last night, but you have never failed me as a son." 

"Splinter..." Raphael wheezed. "You could _never_...fail us." He reached up an arm toward Splinter and held him close. 

"Why?" Michaelangelo asked, his face still streaked with tears. "Why did you do it?" 

"I...I don't know. I guess...I just didn't...understand...what I'd be losing..." 

"Promise me, Raph...promise me that no matter what, you'll never do that again. You're too important Raph. We all need you. Promise me!" 

This time, Raphael's smile was genuine. He glanced down at the patch of red gauze that bandaged his chest. He really _was_ lucky. He had great friends and a wonderful family that was always there when he needed them. He couldn't ask for anything more...except maybe for a way to escape whatever form of punishment Splinter was sure to dish out over this episode. 

"I promise, Mikey," he whispered, glancing from face to face. "There's just too much to live for." 

  


  


**FINI**


End file.
